


Fire and Ice

by Hanna



Series: Honour Thy Father [1]
Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: And they win, Frigga is awesome, Jotun!Loki, Loki leads the Frost Giants to Asgard, Loki takes Thor as his slave, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-24
Updated: 2012-09-24
Packaged: 2017-11-14 23:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/520613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanna/pseuds/Hanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor spent his golden youth in Asgard doing exactly three things: fighting, fucking and feasting. His father tried to train him to take the throne, but he never listened, never took his duties seriously.</p>
<p>In this new world, Thor has exactly one useful skill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a number of prompts and fics I've read about Thor bottoming for Loki (I swore, honestly, that I'd never read Thorki. Yeah.) and ones where Thor takes Loki as the spoils of war between the Frost Giants and Asgardians and vice verse and just had to write it. Hope you enjoy.
> 
> Heavily edited.

**Fire and Ice**

Thor spent his golden youth in Asgard doing exactly three things: fighting, fucking and feasting. His father tried to train him to take the throne but he never listened, never took his duties seriously.

In this new world, Thor has exactly one useful skill.

XX

He is pinned beneath the Jotun, feeling his hands all over him and he shudders, pushing against him, fighting for all he is worth- but he is a chained Aesir, like so many others, his strength bound in the golden chains encircling his wrists and ankles, the golden collar surrounding his neck. Beautiful, seemingly delicate things that belie the iron grasp the dwarven crafting has on him, mocking his station. The other Aesir have ugly iron manacles but he is given manacles fit for a king.

He spits bitterly but cannot find any leverage from which to push the giant off him, cannot stop his hands roving, cannot stop him from doing anything to him and surrenders himself to the inevitability and horror of what is happening to him, slumping against the floor of the throne room that used to be his, just trying to keep from crying.

XX

Loki allows him to visit Mother when he has been good, and sometimes allows her to tend to him after particularly trying nights.

Mother likes to pretend all is well and Thor has not the heart to stop her, though it breaks his heart to remember life before, makes him feel the weight of his chains all the keener. She strokes his hair fondly and tells him he should cut it; he cannot, for Loki has forbidden it (he likes pulling on it), and he instead says that he likes it long. They pretend his bruises are from training, though he has not touched a weapon in centuries, and he promises to be more careful next time. She says he ought to eat better, and he tells her he doesn’t have much appetite; that is the truth. She says she wishes he’d visit more often, and he tells her that if he would he could. She holds him close and tells him she knows, she knows, she knows and soon they’re both crying, but the visit will soon be over and he cannot return to Loki with red eyes so he pulls away from her to compose himself.

XX

“Brother!” Loki says with a wide fake smile and Thor flinches from him, but he cannot go far- he is chained in such a way he cannot rise from his knees. Loki’s red eyes gleam as he lounges on the large, fur covered bed, Father’s bed; the bed that he and Loki spent countless nights in when nightmares got the better of them when they were children. The bed he now cannot look at without shuddering and closing in on himself. Idly Loki twists the chain in his grasp and pulls it forward- he pitches, unable to break his fall with his hands bound behind his back. Loki’s laugh is low.

“Look at you,” he says, mischief in his every syllable, and Thor’s heart sinks. When Loki- his brother, his king- is playful it's always worse. Loki always had a way of speaking and looking at people that made it clear he regarded them as less than nothing. Often in their youth Thor was the recipient of that look. But then he had a hundred other people admiring him, doting upon him and could bury the hurt under their love; here, now, he has nothing save Mother when Loki lets him see her, and Loki’s words are devastating.

“On your knees for me like a good bitch, aren’t you?” he croons. “How many was it today? Five, ten? How many did you let take you, did you beg to take you?” He stares straight at Loki and speaks clearly. He begged no one, he fought them all, but there is no point telling that to Loki, he knows that. He will only laugh and call him weak for failing.

“Seven,” he says, almost defiant- almost, but not quite, for he knows the price of defiance. He was chained to his former throne today- the Jotnar thought it all a marvellous joke to take the former king on his former throne. He did his best not to look at them, not to see their faces, their glowing red eyes, but some yanked on his hair until he clawed at their wrists desperately, forcing him to look, forcing him to keep his eyes open. _“Know your place, whore. You don’t have the right to just sit back and enjoy this. You’re going to look at me. Look at me!” His mouth aches as it is brutally fucked and he is gagging on every thrust, tears stream down his cheeks as he claws uselessly at the Jotun until he pins his arms behind his back and forces him to rely on him for balance. His lips feel like they’re bleeding, and he is forced to swallow it all when he spills, held until he does. Then he bows at him. “Your Majesty,” he mocks and Thor is beyond caring for his pride; he curls up in a tight ball, back to the throne room, and sobs, shaking, drawing his arms around himself, praying that he is the last but he never is; it never ends._ Loki’s laugh stays heavy on the pit of his stomach.

“Tell me, Odinson,” and that is the worst insult of all, Odinson, he who is not Loki’s brother anymore, he who never was Loki’s brother, son of the accursed Odin, the dead Odin, the only vessel the Jotnar can use take their revenge for their previous defeat out on, and he feels shame and hatred bloom in his cheeks at it, shame at being Odin’s son, shame at being what he has always prided himself on, “What do you think of your kingdom?” He does not answer, Loki pulls the chains on his collar tight. He tilts his chin up and bares his throat, panting, sucking the air in, terrible fear filling him. He starts to shake.

“Tell me,” Loki hisses.

“Glorious,” he chokes out, as he is expected to say. “A glorious kingdom for the Jotnar- your Jotnar!” he adds hurriedly when Loki’s eyes flash. Loki’s lip curls but he releases the pressure and Thor gasps for air, slumping slightly.

“And the place of the Aesir in my kingdom?” He knows the routine; knows that if he defies him he will be taken roughly tonight without a care for his comfort and chained after, left to suffer on his knees until Loki sees fit to release him, and if he submits Loki will be gentle and let him cuddle up to him afterwards, as if he matters, and he isn’t sure which is worse; to be treated as he truly is regarded or to be mocked with things he can never again have. But he knows the answer he must give Loki if he is to find relief, relief and comfort he desperately needs, knows that he cannot take any more cruelty today.

“Underneath you,” he says, heart heavy, bowing his head, “Where we belong.” A sob catches in his voice.

“Come, brother,” Loki says gently and he is desperate for the affection, desperate enough to put his pride, what little is left of it, aside and shuffle awkwardly on his knees towards the unfamiliar skin of his brother, eyes averted as he knows Loki likes. Loki’s low chuckle sends a chill down his spine, a wave of immense shame, but as Loki strokes his hair and croons low in his ear, croons “good boy,” and “come on, pet,” and laughs, low and mocking, Thor doesn’t care, not anymore, he tells himself. He can feel himself pushing into the comforting touch and hates that Loki gives him more, hates that he is so needy and weak, hates that some tension drains from his shoulders.

“I will take care of you,” Loki promises and Thor so desperately wants to believe him. He lays his head on the bed, not sure what he’s supposed to feel, shame or anticipation or fear. He isn’t sure of anything anymore. He used to be so certain of his place in the world. Then Father was killed, so many centuries ago- he has been on his knees so many centuries, bound by mocking finery- by the man he once called son, and he was forced to take the throne before his time.

It was under his rule the Frost Giants had taken Asgard. Not that anything he did could have stopped them, they had advanced too far, but the guilt weighs heavy on him still.

He misses Mjolnir. She sits in the armoury, his symbol still on her side, him still worthy of her, calling out to him whenever Loki tours the armoury with him in tow (and he does it often, just because he knows how much it hurts Thor to pass by his beloved hammer) and he cannot reach out and take her. She is kept from him as part of his good behaviour bond- if he misbehaves, if he rebels, his sacrifice when he surrendered to save what little remained of his kingdom will be for nothing, and they will all be destroyed.

Sometimes, though, he wonders if it isn’t better that Asgard be destroyed than be defiled by the Jotun further.

Loki lifts him onto the bed and lays him on his back and he sighs miserably, flinching when he settles between his legs.

“Do not worry so, brother,” Loki says, nipping at his collarbone, and he can almost pretend that this is the Loki he grew up with laughed and played with if he closes his eyes against his vivid crimson ones, if he doesn’t feel the cold radiating from the hands pinning his wrists to the bed. “All is well.”

_This is all wrong_ he wants to scream but submits to his brother, his king, with not a word.

XX

He is being walked today.

His chains are in Loki’s hand as he tours the garden, lengthened just enough so that he can walk, though not easily, and he is forced to stumble behind him, trying to ignore the smirking Jotun watching them.

The garden is no longer what Thor remembers from his youth, the green, lush place he roughhoused with Loki, Sif and the Warriors Three in. It is as cold and dead as the city but strangely beautiful in a way Thor has yet to understand in all the centuries he has lived in this new Asgard. Ice sculptures adorn the paths, tended to by scurrying Aesir, while the dead trees are covered in snow. Only Idunn’s orchids are as they were; her apples cannot grow in the cold, and so it is kept away from them.

The garden is just as defiled as the rest of Asgard. Where once the city glowed golden she is now frozen, her heart cold, moulded, broken to the Jotun’s needs, just like her citizens, just like her king.

Tears burn in Thor’s eyes but he will not shed them, not here where he can be seen. He has failed his city, his people.

Loki tugs sharply on his chain and he isn’t quite quick enough to retain his feet, landing hard on his hands and knees. He starts to rise but a foot on his back stops him. One of the Aesir casts him a pitying look before continuing with her assigned task.

Not all the Aesir understand, understand why their king surrendered rather than going out in a blaze of glory. Many blame him for the centuries of defilement Asgard has undergone, others are indignant and blame Loki, defending their king until they are blue in the face (as if there is not enough blue in Asgard already), but he blames himself too. He remembers why he did it, remembers the day he was thrown to the ground before Loki, lounging on his throne as if he belonged there- on their father’s throne- but it doesn’t help with the guilt.

_His cape is ripped half off, armour dented, bloodied from battle as he is dragged into the throne room._

_“Thor Odinson,” Loki says, amused as he fights against the one who captured him, fights bitterly, until a cold, burning foot sends him reeling to the ground, choking for breath and quick as a flash he is manacled with heavy iron. He tries to lift his hand to summon Mjolnir but his captor kicks him again and he is suddenly coughing  blood onto the tiles before his throne, winded._

_“You fight valiantly, Asgard’s King, but surely you can see that you have lost.” The truth of Loki’s words is a bitter weight in his stomach. He lifts his head and spits at his brother’s feet. Loki laughs softly._

_“I would prefer this not be too unpleasant,” he says. “You are, after all, my brother.” And the outright mockery in those words has the Jotun around them laughing and the Aesir shouting with rage. Loki snaps his fingers and a woman is dragged before Thor._

_It is Mother._

_Thor’s eyes widen in horror and he lunges forward but his manacles catch him and send him back into the unforgiving arms of his captor. Loki continues as if nothing happened._

_“Now, Thor,” he says, almost like the brother Thor refused to give up on for so long except for his blue skin and red eyes, “I give you a choice. Either you continue to resist, continue to fight,” and Thor intends to do just that, he will not bow for the Jotnar who stole his city, to the man he once called brother, the man who killed his father, “And your golden city will burn, with all its people, and I will make you_ watch _, and when it is done I will leave you in the ashes of your kingdom to reflect upon your failure.” Loki is suddenly right in front of him and he cannot help but cringe back. Loki moves back then, beside Mother, and softly takes her hand. The way she shrinks back enrages Thor, who tries to lunge forward again, but this time the Jotun grabs his hair and his scalp is alight with agony as he is yanked back with an unconscious cry of pain._

_“Or,” Loki continues blithely, “You can surrender.”_ _He pauses for his brother’s defiant “Never!” before he continues- never let it be said that he doesn’t know his family._ _“And your city will be spared. Of course, you shall have to attend to my, ah,_ needs _, but surely that is a small price to pay for the continued survival of your puny, pathetic people.” Thor’s gaze is tortured as he stares at Mother, who gazes right back at him, equally helplessly._

_“Shall I give you some time to think about it?” he asks and gestures to a Jotun when no reply is given._

_“Take them to my chambers,” he orders. Thor’s captor yanks him up and hauls him off, kicking and flailing, and Mother is handled more gently, yet still she cringes._

“Thor,” Loki snaps, sounding annoyed, and Thor realises he zoned out. He looks up for a second into Loki’s blazing eyes and cringes as fear blazes into life in his gut before lowering his eyes demurely, unwilling to give Loki the satisfaction of seeing it.

“My king?” he asks and Loki snarls.

“Don’t give me that, _brother_ ,” he hisses. “What were you thinking about that you ignored a direct command from me?” He is in front of him suddenly, holding his head up and forcing him to look him in the eyes.

“The day you stole my kingdom from me.” The answer leaves Thor’s mouth thoughtlessly; _"Don't you dare lie to me," Loki snarls at him, "Don't you ever lie to me"_ and a nearby Aesir shrinks back as Loki’s eyes narrow and his hand closes around Thor’s throat. Thor is horrified with himself but it is too late to take back his words. He chokes for breath as Loki’s grip tightens but does not fight him. Finally Loki throws him to the path.

“Take him,” he snarls at a nearby Jotun. Thor closes his eyes and tries to dissociate himself from his surroundings. It proves impossible as the giant splits him open roughly and makes him cry out with pain, as Loki pulls hard on his hair and snarls in his ear, things he cannot unhear, things he longs to block out but cannot, but he does not plead for it to stop. He will not stoop to that, no matter what lengths he has fallen to. So he puts up with it, tears of agony running down his cheeks, and tries resolutely not to fight, for that always makes it worse and Loki will not stop until he begs if he fights it; and he will not beg.

Later two Aesir attendants carefully wash him down in the quarters he shares with Loki (the royal quarters, the ones that belonged to him and to Odin Allfather before him and he cannot stand to see Loki defiling them, which is, of course, precisely why Loki chose them), eyes dark with anger at the state of their king, the way he cringes from their touch, but they dare not say a word against Loki and he says nothing.

XX

Loki does not speak to him for what feels like an age. He leaves him in communal places for anyone to take and abuse (and they do; they like to defile the Aesir king) or kneeling beside the bed until his knees scream, tears stream down his cheeks from the pain and it is all he can do to hold himself up, until he begs to be unchained and he ignores him, simply chains him tighter, and he cannot walk upon his release. He is left bound for so long on chains tighter than he has had to suffer for centuries and when he is finally released he collapses from sheer exhaustion.

When Loki finally forgives him he could cry with relief, for he has not been so harshly treated since been broken so many centuries ago. Even Mother is barred from seeing him, though he hears her outside the door sometimes, arguing with the guards, and his head sags down and he wishes, not for the first time, that Mother, gentle sweet Mother, had not lived to see this time, to see her husband killed and her first son enslaved by her second.

To escape the pain while he is bound tightly to the bed and so not to acknowledge the horrors happening to his body while bound outside, he finds himself dwelling on the past for the first time in many centuries.

_He and Mother hold each other for a very long time. They cling and refuse to let go of each other. Mother cries, and so does Thor. They cry for the loss of Odin Allfather, for the loss of Loki, for the lengths Loki has gone to to get revenge upon Odin. Mother cries for Thor has to choose between the ruin of all he knows, loves and is responsible for or being his brother’s concubine. Thor cries for Mother has lived to see these days, for he knows his choice, abhorrent as it may be; he cannot let his people perish for his pride._

_When he is brought before Loki again he is dressed in muted green Asgardian finery. Around his wrists and ankles are thin gold bands binding his strength and a matching collar encircles his neck. Gold chains are draped in a Jotun’s hand. Loki smiles indulgently when he sees the colour, so wrong on Thor. He beckons to him and the Jotun lets go of his chains as Thor moves towards him, holding his head high. Taking the chains, he secures them to the throne._

_“Kneel,” he orders and Thor, fuming inside, a storm brewing in his eyes, thunder rumbling outside, does so, silently. The chains are tightened to keep him in this position as long as he wants him there. He bears it with a warrior’s stoicism, and Loki wonders when he developed that- even after his time on Midgard he was still boisterous. He doesn’t wonder too long though. He has other business to attend to._

_He ignores Thor when his composure begins to crack, when he twitches and shifts his weight on his knees, when his pain begins to show on his face, while the other Jotun point and laugh at him. He ignores Thor until the court is dismissed, and ignores him longer as he takes the time to sprawl in his father’s throne with a satisfied smile, to enjoy being king of Asgard as he has so long wanted. Finally he touches Thor’s chains, tugs slightly, and his brother looks up at him with barely masked desperation. He is impressed with his self-control._

_“How does it feel?” he asks at length. Thor just stares at him in confusion, so he elaborates. He can’t expect him to read his mind just yet. “To be stared at. Laughed at. Hated.” His voice becomes a hiss as he yanks the chain closer. Thor winces as it pulls on his collar._

_“I never hated you,” he says with all the honestly only Thor can manage. Loki hears the unspoken ‘then’. He moves his face close to Thor’s._

_“And now?” Thor does not answer, and he yanks viciously on the chain so that Thor knocks his chin on the throne. He hisses in pain. “Answer me.”_

_“I do not hate you,” Thor says hesitantly and it is honest but, again, the unspoken truth hangs in the air- ‘but I no longer love you’._

When Loki finally lets Mother in he is still bound and cannot embrace her but she embraces him, not trying to pretend like they normally do that his bruises are caused by anything but Loki’s punishment, not trying to pretend his bonds are bracelets and anklets and decorative jewellery.

“I was so worried,” she sobs into his chest and he can only rest his chin on her head as his tears flow freely. He is still bound in kneeling position. His hands have been bound behind his back for so long he has trouble feeling his fingers. He tries to flex them and pain jerks his face; Mother notices the movement. Without a word, she goes behind him and rubs them between her slim hands until the blood flow returns to them and agony twists his features, but she does not stop, knowing what he needs. Finally it stops hurting quite so much and he can feel his fingers again. He sighs in relief, sagging slightly.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” he says softly then and she just smiles at him, so sadly it breaks his heart. “I don’t want you to remember me as a harlot on my knees.” Pain at the lengths of depravity he has been forced to twists his voice and she kisses his forehead.

“I don’t care what position you are in,” she says and sits beside him, resting against his shoulder. “You are my son and I am just glad Loki let me see you.” It is the first time she has said in Thor’s presence that Loki controls him, that he is Loki’s _slave_ , and the admission from his mother means he cannot escape the truth of his life. He stifles a sob but she holds him tight and it is inevitable that his tears flow.

“Ssh,” she whispers as he sobs like a child into her hair. “Hush, son. I’m here.” She rocks him back and forth as best she can until Loki enters while Thor is still sobbing.

“Time’s up,” he says coldly and Mother plants a kiss on his cheek before she is dragged out by the guard. He snorts derisively at Thor, who is frantically trying to stop crying.

“Weak,” he says. “If all Aesir are like their king then it is no wonder we conquered you so easily. Perhaps Mother’s visits are making you soft, brother. Perhaps I should stop her from seeing you.” The raw panic on Thor’s face makes him want to grin manically, but his expression, distantly disinterested, doesn’t change. He has never seen his brother this broken. It is beautiful.

“Loki,” he pleads. “Don’t bar her, please, Loki, my king. I… I need her. I beg of you, do not bar her from me.” Loki has to work harder than ever to contain his glee.

“Pleading, now? You Aesir are pathetic.” He has the privilege of watching Thor crumble to the ground, desperation and despair in his every line, and turns to his books as if none of this has affected him as his brother starts crying again.

XX

The populace notices the new despondency in Thor. The Jotun sneer about how the Aesir’s child king is weak; the Aesir are furious and are only barely contained from rioting. Loki, to his credit, sees how close the Aesir are to an uprising and that if Thor remains so down he will have one on his hands.

He allows Thor to have access to Mother again and is displeased about it. Thor is sobbing into her hair until she calms him but every time they try to talk one or the other starts crying. Still, Thor is cheered and the friction between the Aesir and Jotun is contained for another day.

“Thank you,” Thor murmurs one day as he waits on his knees behind Loki while he works, head down. Loki glances at him, raising an eyebrow. “For letting me see Mother. I am grateful, my king.” And how he knows it burns Thor to say those words, to admit fealty to him, but for once, he does not poke the wound.

“Good,” he says instead. “You should be.” And he turns back to his books but his victory over Thor cheers him no end.

XX

Nothing lasts forever and for a century, a hundred, a thousand, the Aesir burn under their Jotun masters and their king tires of being on his knees, tires of seeing Asgard so ravaged, so defiled. Asgard is a city of gods and heroes, and his father would be ashamed of him for allowing her to wither so long.

It is with righteous anger that their king finally takes Mjolnir in his grasp and incites the rebellion he ought to have incited an age ago and their Jotun masters are outmatched by the fury of the oppressed, humiliated Aesir. There is nothing the Jotun like less than fire and the Aesir _are_ fire, wild, uncontainable. Their king finally strikes his chains and takes his inferno of fury to the king who attempted to take his place, who he knelt to and served for so long, and has the pleasure of seeing pure terror fill his eyes.

He defeats him in glorious battle that shall be sung of for ages to come then banishes him, his lip curling wildly, madly.

“Watch the ruins of your kingdom burn,” he hisses. “Never return to this place, or I will _have your head.”_ The king of the Jotnar does not doubt the Aesir who is so enraged and vanishes before he changes his mind, blindly running the paths of fate in his haste to flee.

The Aesir king finally sits upon his own throne and sees the chains attached to the side, the chains that held him for a hundred thousand years; suddenly weary, he leaves them there. His head lolls back and the Aesir do not begrudge him his sleep. In time he will rebuild his society to glorious heights, unsurpassed by all who came before; but now he is content to have struck his chains, the chains of his people, and finally having seen the ice melt from his golden city and her heart start beating again.

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think! I love feedback!


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